God damn her! Rage rushed through him, driving back some of the pain, some of the weakness. This was all her fault—disappearing for days on end. Didn’t she know he needed her? Needed to see her. To hear her voice.
She made the pain bearable.
Images of her careened through his head, flashing in and out as the pain ebbed and flowed. Clutching his head, he struggled to ignore the agony and bring her face into focus. Long moments passed, filled with his harsh breathing and harsher groans as he tried to make sense of the rapid flashes of color bombarding his brain.
And then, suddenly, the flashes coalesced and there she was. Soaking wet after being caught in a summer rainstorm—her hair slicked back and her brown eyes alight with a rare and intoxicating laughter. The thin cotton of her shirt all but transparent while her ni**les pebbled into a tempting hardness.
His dick twitched, grew harder despite the pain still gripping his head. With a sigh, he wrapped a hand around himself. Began to squeeze and stroke as he imagined Serena on her knees in front of him—wet and willing—her warm, ripe mouth sucking him dry. The pain began to slide away.
He’d rip open her wet shirt, bare her creamy br**sts to his starving eyes. Her nipples—hard, tight little peaks—would be so deeply pink they were almost red as her br**sts thrust upward for his approval. He’d reach out and pinch them tightly enough to make her whimper—a little pain only increased the pleasure. She’d moan and cry out and then he would take her ni**les in his mouth, one at a time, rolling them over his tongue and between his teeth. He could taste them already—the strawberry tartness tickling his tongue, feeding his soul, before he pulled away and let her suck him like she’d be dying to do.
She’d play with him first, let her tongue lick delicately at his head before pulling him into her mouth and down her slender, elegant throat. He groaned—swiping his thumb across the head of his dick as he envisioned her soft, wet mouth doing the same—then increased his tempo as he imagined her tongue stroking up and down his dick while her lips and teeth and the soft suction of her mouth drove him to insanity and beyond.
His h*ps surged against his hand as he dreamed about her warm breath fluttering over him. She’d curl her tongue around him, moaning deep in her throat even as her teeth found the sensitive ridge at the base of his head. She’d bite down—softly, experimentally—and he’d tangle his hands in her hair, forcing his huge, powerful dick down her throat. Ramming it into her again and again as she struggled to take all of him. Her teeth would scrape against him, pain—once again—making the pleasure even sweeter.
Ecstasy shot through him, stealing his breath and his control. He stroked faster and faster, harder and harder, until he came with a scream. A giant flooding that stripped his soul bare and had fireworks shooting off behind his eyes as she swallowed all he had to give her and demanded more. Her body starving for all he could give it.
The soul-searing pleasure faded and he came back to himself with a groan. He was slumped—naked—on the bathroom floor, his come coating the cold, smoky tiles between his upraised knees.
Serena danced before his eyes—bare, aroused, dying for him—and he reached for her. The image disappeared and was replaced suddenly by one of the cool and composed Serena he’d seen in the last days of the trial—before the deal had been cut. Ravaged by pain but too brave, too stoic, to let it out. No one had seen how much she was hurting. No one had realized how distraught she was.
No one but him. He could see. Of course he could see—he knew her too well to be fooled by that mask she showed the world. He had stood in the shadows, watching her. Wanting so much to comfort her. Wanting to kill the animal who had tried to take her from him.
But she hadn’t gone then, hadn’t given up. Even then she’d known that she was his and she always would be.
The pain in his head was gone, swallowed by the earth-shaking pleasure Serena had given him. The absence of agony allowed him to take his first deep breath since awakening. He couldn’t wait until he could repay the favor, giving her back equal measure of the ecstasy and agony she so often brought to him.
Climbing shakily to his feet, he reached for the largest bottle on the vanity table. She would be back in a few days and he had to be ready.
He shook out two pills, swallowed them dry. And tried to ignore the fine trembling that rocked him from the inside out.
* * *
Serena closed her laptop with a sigh. She’d spent the last few hours taking notes on each and every photo she’d taken of Kevin with the digital camera. But now it was time to come out of the bedroom—time to face the music, so to speak.
She glanced at the clock. It was two thirty and Kevin was finally awake. About twenty minutes before she’d heard the shower turn on and now the scent of coffee was drifting through her closed door.
She was already showered and dressed, had been for nearly four hours. Though she’d been exhausted when she’d fallen asleep on Kevin—her cheeks burned at the memory—she’d only managed to sleep about three and a half hours. The nightmare had woken her up, as it had every day for the last two weeks, and she hadn’t been able to face laying in bed and staring at the ceiling.
She’d decided, instead, to make the most of her early start by examining the digital pictures she’d taken of Kevin over the last three days. There were not as many as she would have hoped, largely because she’d spent an awful lot of time taking photos with her Nikon. Now she had about thirty rolls of film to develop, something she planned on doing when she returned to Baton Rouge later in the day.
Kevin would think she was running away, and maybe she would have considered it if this thing in Baton Rouge hadn’t loomed huge and irrevocable in her head. She dreaded the trip home. Dreaded facing what she’d buried for the last ten years. But the D.A. was insistent—it was imperative that she testify at the parole hearing. She couldn’t argue with him; she knew Jack wouldn’t put her through it if he didn’t think it absolutely necessary.
Her cell rang, interrupting her silent reverie, and she picked it up without thinking. “Serena Macafee.”
“Hello, darling.”
Her stomach clenched sickly at the familiar, distorted voice and she started to hang up, but knew the gesture was useless. He would just call back and leave messages—twisted and explicit—until she finally listened to him. “What do you want?” She kept her voice steady, though her stomach churned.
“Just to talk. I’ve missed you—you’ve been away for days.”
Chills skittered down her spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He laughed, the sound even more disturbing for its distortion. “Let’s not play games, sweetheart. You’re not at home and haven’t been for nearly a week. Where are you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
The disembodied voice turned deadly serious. “Everything about you is my business. When are you going to figure that out?”
Hands clenched into fists, Serena fought for control—fought to keep the sick panic out of her voice. “Look, hasn’t this gone on long enough? Aren’t you bored yet?”
“You could never bore me. Talking to you is so often the highlight of my day.”
“Well, it’s not the highlight of mine. You need to stop or I’ll call the police.”
“No, you won’t.” His voice was confident, self-assured. “You hate the cops, hate the whole system. You wouldn’t call them if you were dying in the street.”
Serena froze, shocked at just how well this man knew her. She’d assumed, at first, that the calls were just a joke. A couple of kids crank calling for kicks. But the calls had gone on for weeks now, each one a little more personal, a little more disturbing than the last. He’d even managed to get her cell phone number after she’d changed it. Twice.
“Ahhh, that got your attention, didn’t it? You think I don’t know you? You think I don’t know everything about you? Like right now you’re in the middle of that godforsaken bayou taking pictures of some famous artist. Aren’t you?
“What’s the matter?” he asked after a minute, as if her silence disturbed him. “Am I not supposed to know what you’re up to?” His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “Am I not supposed to know about the great Kevin Riley? They say women are crazy about him. Is that true? Are you crazy about him? Do you want him to f**k you?”
The voice turned ugly. “Or has he already?”
She didn’t answer him, couldn’t answer him as shock spun through her.
“Tell me the truth, damn it! Has he touched you? You’ve been way out there in the middle of the swamps with him for days. Has he kissed you? Sucked your gorgeous little nipples? Licked his way down that hot little body of yours until—”
She hit the disconnect button moments before the phone fell from her suddenly numb fingers. She couldn’t listen to one more word—even if it meant the calls would escalate, get worse.
Because her shaking legs would no longer support her, Serena sank slowly onto her bed. What had she gotten herself into? And Dear God, how was she going to get herself out of it?
Had she somehow managed to pick up a stalker? Someone who watched her every move? She shuddered violently, fighting against the almost overwhelming need to close the blinds and curl into a ball. Fighting the urge to take a shower and scrub until she felt clean.
Sandra’s death had taught her to be wary, had convinced her that the world could be a very sick place. She really should call the police, tell them about the phone calls. About the caller’s bizarre knowledge of her life and personality.
But he was right. She hated the Baton Rouge police, didn’t trust them at all. Refused to trust them after the debacle surrounding her sister’s death. Besides, she didn’t have any proof. Believing at first the calls were nothing more than some bored kids looking for excitement, she’d erased all the messages.
Now, however, she wasn’t nearly as certain. Now she was scared—for herself and for Kevin. What if this guy was violent? Jealous? Completely obsessed? She’d seen that kind of obsession firsthand, knew how vicious it could be.
Resting her head in her hands, Serena pressed the heels of her hands against her weary eyes. As if the next few days didn’t already hold enough fun-filled activities to last her a lifetime, now she had someone following her every move—fixated on her and perhaps on Kevin as well.
With her eyes closed, she couldn’t stop the events of the previous night from flipping through her brain. What had she been thinking? Her laugh was unamused as she realized the obvious answer—she hadn’t been thinking at all. She’d been too caught up in the blazing desire generated from being in the same room with Kevin to even attempt to think rationally. There was no other answer for her behavior, no other reason for the heat flooding her still.
But she couldn’t afford to use her suddenly raging hormones as a guide to living her life. Even without her obscene caller and his threats, her life was entirely too complicated at present to consider starting a relationship.
She had to stop this thing with Kevin before it really got started. Had to stop thinking about him, lusting after him when she should be working. She wasn’t afraid of the sex—that was the easy part. But she couldn’t just f**k him and move on. Because no matter how casually she intended this thing with him to be, no matter how desperately she tried to keep her emotional distance, she had a feeling getting involved with Kevin would be the equivalent of emotional quicksand. He didn’t have a casual, uncomplicated bone in his body and even if he did, there was too much heat between them for things to be just sexual.
Already they were teetering on the edge of emotional involvement and she didn’t do emotional involvement. He’d held her last night when she’d fallen apart, had soothed her and rocked her to sleep like a child. That in itself put Kevin in a category far different from mere sexual attraction. A small part of her, one she had thought long dead and buried, warmed at the memory of his care and concern. The rest of her was a mixture of fear and humiliation. Fear because of the curious melting in the region of her heart. Humiliation because Kevin had seen her so completely defenseless.
She made the pain bearable.
Images of her careened through his head, flashing in and out as the pain ebbed and flowed. Clutching his head, he struggled to ignore the agony and bring her face into focus. Long moments passed, filled with his harsh breathing and harsher groans as he tried to make sense of the rapid flashes of color bombarding his brain.
And then, suddenly, the flashes coalesced and there she was. Soaking wet after being caught in a summer rainstorm—her hair slicked back and her brown eyes alight with a rare and intoxicating laughter. The thin cotton of her shirt all but transparent while her ni**les pebbled into a tempting hardness.
His dick twitched, grew harder despite the pain still gripping his head. With a sigh, he wrapped a hand around himself. Began to squeeze and stroke as he imagined Serena on her knees in front of him—wet and willing—her warm, ripe mouth sucking him dry. The pain began to slide away.
He’d rip open her wet shirt, bare her creamy br**sts to his starving eyes. Her nipples—hard, tight little peaks—would be so deeply pink they were almost red as her br**sts thrust upward for his approval. He’d reach out and pinch them tightly enough to make her whimper—a little pain only increased the pleasure. She’d moan and cry out and then he would take her ni**les in his mouth, one at a time, rolling them over his tongue and between his teeth. He could taste them already—the strawberry tartness tickling his tongue, feeding his soul, before he pulled away and let her suck him like she’d be dying to do.
She’d play with him first, let her tongue lick delicately at his head before pulling him into her mouth and down her slender, elegant throat. He groaned—swiping his thumb across the head of his dick as he envisioned her soft, wet mouth doing the same—then increased his tempo as he imagined her tongue stroking up and down his dick while her lips and teeth and the soft suction of her mouth drove him to insanity and beyond.
His h*ps surged against his hand as he dreamed about her warm breath fluttering over him. She’d curl her tongue around him, moaning deep in her throat even as her teeth found the sensitive ridge at the base of his head. She’d bite down—softly, experimentally—and he’d tangle his hands in her hair, forcing his huge, powerful dick down her throat. Ramming it into her again and again as she struggled to take all of him. Her teeth would scrape against him, pain—once again—making the pleasure even sweeter.
Ecstasy shot through him, stealing his breath and his control. He stroked faster and faster, harder and harder, until he came with a scream. A giant flooding that stripped his soul bare and had fireworks shooting off behind his eyes as she swallowed all he had to give her and demanded more. Her body starving for all he could give it.
The soul-searing pleasure faded and he came back to himself with a groan. He was slumped—naked—on the bathroom floor, his come coating the cold, smoky tiles between his upraised knees.
Serena danced before his eyes—bare, aroused, dying for him—and he reached for her. The image disappeared and was replaced suddenly by one of the cool and composed Serena he’d seen in the last days of the trial—before the deal had been cut. Ravaged by pain but too brave, too stoic, to let it out. No one had seen how much she was hurting. No one had realized how distraught she was.
No one but him. He could see. Of course he could see—he knew her too well to be fooled by that mask she showed the world. He had stood in the shadows, watching her. Wanting so much to comfort her. Wanting to kill the animal who had tried to take her from him.
But she hadn’t gone then, hadn’t given up. Even then she’d known that she was his and she always would be.
The pain in his head was gone, swallowed by the earth-shaking pleasure Serena had given him. The absence of agony allowed him to take his first deep breath since awakening. He couldn’t wait until he could repay the favor, giving her back equal measure of the ecstasy and agony she so often brought to him.
Climbing shakily to his feet, he reached for the largest bottle on the vanity table. She would be back in a few days and he had to be ready.
He shook out two pills, swallowed them dry. And tried to ignore the fine trembling that rocked him from the inside out.
* * *
Serena closed her laptop with a sigh. She’d spent the last few hours taking notes on each and every photo she’d taken of Kevin with the digital camera. But now it was time to come out of the bedroom—time to face the music, so to speak.
She glanced at the clock. It was two thirty and Kevin was finally awake. About twenty minutes before she’d heard the shower turn on and now the scent of coffee was drifting through her closed door.
She was already showered and dressed, had been for nearly four hours. Though she’d been exhausted when she’d fallen asleep on Kevin—her cheeks burned at the memory—she’d only managed to sleep about three and a half hours. The nightmare had woken her up, as it had every day for the last two weeks, and she hadn’t been able to face laying in bed and staring at the ceiling.
She’d decided, instead, to make the most of her early start by examining the digital pictures she’d taken of Kevin over the last three days. There were not as many as she would have hoped, largely because she’d spent an awful lot of time taking photos with her Nikon. Now she had about thirty rolls of film to develop, something she planned on doing when she returned to Baton Rouge later in the day.
Kevin would think she was running away, and maybe she would have considered it if this thing in Baton Rouge hadn’t loomed huge and irrevocable in her head. She dreaded the trip home. Dreaded facing what she’d buried for the last ten years. But the D.A. was insistent—it was imperative that she testify at the parole hearing. She couldn’t argue with him; she knew Jack wouldn’t put her through it if he didn’t think it absolutely necessary.
Her cell rang, interrupting her silent reverie, and she picked it up without thinking. “Serena Macafee.”
“Hello, darling.”
Her stomach clenched sickly at the familiar, distorted voice and she started to hang up, but knew the gesture was useless. He would just call back and leave messages—twisted and explicit—until she finally listened to him. “What do you want?” She kept her voice steady, though her stomach churned.
“Just to talk. I’ve missed you—you’ve been away for days.”
Chills skittered down her spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He laughed, the sound even more disturbing for its distortion. “Let’s not play games, sweetheart. You’re not at home and haven’t been for nearly a week. Where are you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
The disembodied voice turned deadly serious. “Everything about you is my business. When are you going to figure that out?”
Hands clenched into fists, Serena fought for control—fought to keep the sick panic out of her voice. “Look, hasn’t this gone on long enough? Aren’t you bored yet?”
“You could never bore me. Talking to you is so often the highlight of my day.”
“Well, it’s not the highlight of mine. You need to stop or I’ll call the police.”
“No, you won’t.” His voice was confident, self-assured. “You hate the cops, hate the whole system. You wouldn’t call them if you were dying in the street.”
Serena froze, shocked at just how well this man knew her. She’d assumed, at first, that the calls were just a joke. A couple of kids crank calling for kicks. But the calls had gone on for weeks now, each one a little more personal, a little more disturbing than the last. He’d even managed to get her cell phone number after she’d changed it. Twice.
“Ahhh, that got your attention, didn’t it? You think I don’t know you? You think I don’t know everything about you? Like right now you’re in the middle of that godforsaken bayou taking pictures of some famous artist. Aren’t you?
“What’s the matter?” he asked after a minute, as if her silence disturbed him. “Am I not supposed to know what you’re up to?” His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “Am I not supposed to know about the great Kevin Riley? They say women are crazy about him. Is that true? Are you crazy about him? Do you want him to f**k you?”
The voice turned ugly. “Or has he already?”
She didn’t answer him, couldn’t answer him as shock spun through her.
“Tell me the truth, damn it! Has he touched you? You’ve been way out there in the middle of the swamps with him for days. Has he kissed you? Sucked your gorgeous little nipples? Licked his way down that hot little body of yours until—”
She hit the disconnect button moments before the phone fell from her suddenly numb fingers. She couldn’t listen to one more word—even if it meant the calls would escalate, get worse.
Because her shaking legs would no longer support her, Serena sank slowly onto her bed. What had she gotten herself into? And Dear God, how was she going to get herself out of it?
Had she somehow managed to pick up a stalker? Someone who watched her every move? She shuddered violently, fighting against the almost overwhelming need to close the blinds and curl into a ball. Fighting the urge to take a shower and scrub until she felt clean.
Sandra’s death had taught her to be wary, had convinced her that the world could be a very sick place. She really should call the police, tell them about the phone calls. About the caller’s bizarre knowledge of her life and personality.
But he was right. She hated the Baton Rouge police, didn’t trust them at all. Refused to trust them after the debacle surrounding her sister’s death. Besides, she didn’t have any proof. Believing at first the calls were nothing more than some bored kids looking for excitement, she’d erased all the messages.
Now, however, she wasn’t nearly as certain. Now she was scared—for herself and for Kevin. What if this guy was violent? Jealous? Completely obsessed? She’d seen that kind of obsession firsthand, knew how vicious it could be.
Resting her head in her hands, Serena pressed the heels of her hands against her weary eyes. As if the next few days didn’t already hold enough fun-filled activities to last her a lifetime, now she had someone following her every move—fixated on her and perhaps on Kevin as well.
With her eyes closed, she couldn’t stop the events of the previous night from flipping through her brain. What had she been thinking? Her laugh was unamused as she realized the obvious answer—she hadn’t been thinking at all. She’d been too caught up in the blazing desire generated from being in the same room with Kevin to even attempt to think rationally. There was no other answer for her behavior, no other reason for the heat flooding her still.
But she couldn’t afford to use her suddenly raging hormones as a guide to living her life. Even without her obscene caller and his threats, her life was entirely too complicated at present to consider starting a relationship.
She had to stop this thing with Kevin before it really got started. Had to stop thinking about him, lusting after him when she should be working. She wasn’t afraid of the sex—that was the easy part. But she couldn’t just f**k him and move on. Because no matter how casually she intended this thing with him to be, no matter how desperately she tried to keep her emotional distance, she had a feeling getting involved with Kevin would be the equivalent of emotional quicksand. He didn’t have a casual, uncomplicated bone in his body and even if he did, there was too much heat between them for things to be just sexual.
Already they were teetering on the edge of emotional involvement and she didn’t do emotional involvement. He’d held her last night when she’d fallen apart, had soothed her and rocked her to sleep like a child. That in itself put Kevin in a category far different from mere sexual attraction. A small part of her, one she had thought long dead and buried, warmed at the memory of his care and concern. The rest of her was a mixture of fear and humiliation. Fear because of the curious melting in the region of her heart. Humiliation because Kevin had seen her so completely defenseless.
